Dead Poets Society
by John Faina
Summary: This has been done before, but it was too tempting and too much fun. This, the spawn of my love for Robert Sean Leonard. Not to be taken entirely too seriously.
1. Dead Poets Society

"No."

"No, what?"

"No, _sir_? I'm not getting it out."

"But, you can't just tell me something like that, and expect me to _not_ want you to get it out. I mean, what's the point? You know I'll find a way to see it eventually."

Wilson sighed. "I know. I'd rather not be here when you do."

"You're right. It probably sucks. After all, you _are_ a doctor."

"What does that have to do with _any_thing?"

"Who ever heard of an actor converting to a doctor?"

"House, I was a _kid_. Every kid wants to be an actor."

"I didn't. I thought actors were overrated. Are you going to show it to me or not?"

"_Not_. I never want to think about it again, can you just drop it? Forget I mentioned it."

"What kind of play was it?"

Wilson rolled his eyes, figuring the best thing to do would be answer House's questions and get it out of the way. "It was...Shakespeare. _A Midsummer Night's Dream_."

House raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Shakespeare? You mean to tell me, you dressed up in one of those ridiculous costumes and pranced around the stage, spouting off Old English dialogue, and got it on _tape_? Wilson, you don't understand, I _have_ to see this."

"Oho, no you don't."

"This is almost as essential to me as breathing."

"Well, it was _almost_ good knowing you."

"I will _call_ your mother and tell her to send me her copy. I know she's got to have one."

"She doesn't. I took our only copy, intending to hide it away and never let it out for air."

"Why are you so ashamed of it? Did they make you do a nude scene? That certainly would have been illegal."

"I was nineteen."

"You're kidding. You did a _nude_ scene? Get it out, right now."

"No, I was the lead role. But I've made note of how excited you are at the prospect of seeing me naked."

"What was it then? Did you screw up your lines too many times?"

"_No_. I was...great."

"Get. It. Out."

"Why is it so important to you?"

"I've known you for nineteen years, and I never knew that you had interest in acting when you were a kid. You get the proof _on tape_, and you won't even consider letting me see it?"

"Exactly. Because you've known me for so long, you'll take the piss out on me for it."

"That's a risk we'll have to take. It can't be that humiliating."

"How badly do you want this?"

"We're actually going to bargain? _Badly_."

"I...will consider getting it out..._if _you do the dishes for a week. Or two. Or for the rest of eternity."

"Are you proposing to me? No way. Not if you're only _considering_."

"Fine. Do the dishes, and I'll let you watch it."

"Seriously? You're bluffing."

Giving him a pointed look, Wilson got up from the couch and headed down the hall toward his bedroom. There were a few creaks, and sounds of rummaging, and when he returned, he was carrying a rectangular box. He tossed it into House's lap smugly.

House caught it, a little surprised, and glanced down. The video was hidden in some old movie cover he supposed Wilson had randomly chosen to make sure no one discovered it for what it was. The title _Dead Poets Society _flashed at him in red letters, and he noticed Robin Williams, apparently being lifted by a gang of teenage boys. Glancing back up at Wilson with a small grin on his face, he discarded the cover and turned the tape around in his hands. The same title caught his eye.

"Nuh-uh," he said, shaking his head. "Go get the real tape, or deal's off."

"That _is_ the right tape."

"You _just _told me you were in a Shakespeare play. This isn't Shakespeare, and it isn't a play."

"Yes, I know. Take a look at the cover again."

His curiosity very intensely peaked now, he picked up the movie cover from where he'd laid it on the cushion beside him, and squinted at it. Yes, there was Robin Williams, and those kids. He didn't see anything unusual. He turned it over, but didn't see anything there either. He looked up, confused.

Wilson sat next to him, and pointed to a certain boy who wore glasses, and who appeared to be laughing as he aided in lifting the grown man.

"That's me."

Immediately, his eyes riveted to the boy.

There _were_ some similarites, he thought, such as the hair color, and shape of his face. But he couldn't be certain it was _really_ him until he put in the movie. Then he would be able to scrutinize the body language, and manor of speaking that he had come to know and find familiar.

"You're screwing with me aren't you? This whole thing was a set up. You expect me to believe that you were once in a movie with Robin Williams? I've _heard_ of this movie!You have a real issue with dishes."

Wilson sat back, his hands behind his head, scratching at his scalp.

"Heard of it, never seen it. Stick it in."

"Do we even _own_ a VCR?" he asked, scanning the area below their flatscreen TV, even though he knew they did. He'd bought one himself, due to all the tapes he still owned that he refused to get rid of. A DVD and VCR combination.

Getting up, he limped over to it, and slid the video inside the slot, feeling old. Knowing Wilson wasn't going to do anything to help the process along, he manually changed it to the right channel, and hit the play button before going back to the couch.

"God, am I really letting you see this?" the oncologist groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. The movie hadn't even started yet. Previews. Simply to intensify his pain and suffering, House fast-forwarded through them until he spotted the opening credits.

He still didn't believe it. There was _no way_ Wilson could have been in a _movie_, and neglected to mention the detail. That was surely something he would have been able to figure out by this point in their relationship.

A few minutes passed in silence as the film played. No sign of a young James Evan Wilson yet.

Against his better judgement, it seemed, his best friend cautiously peeked out from under his elbow. He looked even more nervous than before. House shifted his eyes back onto the screen.

"Jesus!" he yelled with ill-disguised pleasure and excitement. There he was. No doubt about it. Same eyes, hair, mouth - everything. The only difference was that he was obviously a great deal younger. Hungrily, he scanned what the screen gave him for those familiar head nods and somewhat hunched shoulders. They were definitely there.

Wilson gave a shrug that plainly said _I told you so_.

House pressed pause, and turned toward him. "Okay, first of all, screw you for keeping this a secret. And second, we need popcorn."

"Okay, but I mean, c'mon, it's not that big a deal - "

"You said you had the main role?"

"Well, in the _play_ - "

"There's a play too? Damn it, did you have a resume and everything? An agent? Were you a child star? What else don't I know?"

"No, you don't - well, you'll just have to see."

Once the popcorn was popped, House dumped the load into a glass bowl and set it between the two of them. Then he eagerly resumed the movie.

As they delved further and further, Wilson occasionally groaned, "Oh, I hate this. I hate this, I hate this so much..."

"Will you _shut up_. Your whining is pointless."

"I can't just sit here while you devour and analyze my every move. I know that's what you're doing."

"Don't have such a huge head. I'm actually finding myself attracted to your little roommate there."

"Oh, is _that_ why your chin is nearly on the ground?"

"Yes. See the way his hair - it just falls in exactly the right - "

"You know, I _do_ see that. Handsome boy. Close your mouth."

"How can I? We've got this enormous screen of a TV, and _you're_ on it. Cut me some slack."

If House wasn't mistaken, Wilson looked rather pleased with that comment. And at least he was relatively silent until about halfway through the film.

He wasn't even the first one to break the silence when his character, Neal Perry, found out about open auditions for a play.

"Oh! You're in a play, _in_ a movie. Clever mind trick."

Then, as he watched the face he knew so well become so enthused and filled with life as he snatched away his roomate's poem, and danced away, laughing like a maniac over something he had, "Always wanted to try," House found himself chuckling as well. It was infectious.

"God, you were adorable. Seriously, I might have to switch out my porn for this. This _one _scene where you're wearing khakis and a sweater."

Next to him, Wilson cleared his throat.

That was House's last comment until the end.

Wilson's performance fascinated him. He'd never seen his friend behave quite like that, and it was..._great. _Charming. Neal Perry was most certainly one of his favorite characters of all time, and that was saying something. Of course, it had everything to do with who portrayed him, but House was ready to admit that he could be biased at times. Finally, the scene with the play was up.

Wilson was, indeed, in a ridiculous costume, hopping around, and spouting off Old English dialogue, but there wasn't a single aspect that he didn't enjoy immensely. He _really _put himself into the roll, which House admired immensely but would never admit.

Then, came the end. The end of the entire movie, and he was speechless. He was shocked. Sad. In a gut-wrenching sort of way. And also filled with fierce pride and emotion and an incredible sense of loss. He said nothing for a long time. Neither did Wilson.

The end credits stopped rolling, and the television automatically began to rewind the tape.

The loft was silent.

"House?" Wilson asked softly.

Frowning, he looked at him.

"Are you...alright?" he asked, chuckling.

Without giving any sort of warning, House pulled him into a fierce embrace.

"What - "

"Shh," he commanded, burying his face into the side of Wilson's neck. "I love you. I love you so much."

"Oh..." Wilson breathed. "Where is this coming from?"

House didn't respond, but relished in the feeling of the oncologist's arms around him, fingers clenching against his back.

Apparently, Wilson didn't need a response from him, because he was able to figure it out all on his own as usual.

"You liked _Neal_ a lot, didn't you? House, it was only a movie," he teased.

Like that concerned him. What mattered was that Wilson was _there_. Solid, breathing, non-suicidal, and _there_. He pressed a kiss to the area under his ear, and continued around until he reached his mouth. Wilson kissed back tenderly, one hand sliding up into the back of his hair.

"Mm..." House mumbled into his mouth, leaning forward so that Wilson's head laid against the armrest of the couch. Immediately, the younger man let go of him and exposed his throat as much as he could. That was where he most enjoyed attention.

He sighed when House granted that attention, and trailed his fingers down his sides almost absently.

"I love you, too. You still have to do the dishes."

House grinned against the milky skin. Though he pretended otherwise, he loved to hear those words, and Wilson understood. House had always been needy, but that side of him really presented itself when they were alone.

"I can't wait tonight," he warned in a quiet voice. "Dishes are the last thing on my mind." Wilson nodded and silently lifted his hips so that House could easily pull off his flanel pajama bottoms.

He wasn't wearing any sort of apparel underneath, which was exciting and intriguing, as well as incredibly sensuous. House growled, and kissed his forehead.

"You're always thinking about this, aren't you?"

"How can I not?" Wilson asked, pushing House's own pants down. "You make me feel... funny."

"Hmm. You're such a sweetie," he teased, nudging his legs apart. But he wasn't joking. He leaned down and nuzzled his neck just to hear the little chuckle that always occured when he did this. Wilson had once explained, bashfully, that his stubble actually tickled. In a horrible, unappealing way of course.

"So are you," Wilson replied, vocal cords vibrating under his nose. He kissed the top of his head. "Even if I'm the only one who knows it."

House rutted his hips gently into Wilson's, causing him to groan.

"Well, you manage to get reactions out of me that are _horribly_ uncharacteristic."

Wilson's reply was to mimic House's actions, with slight more force.

Picking up on a slow, yet steady rythmn, House kissed his way down Wilson's throat, down to his shirt-covered chest, then his stomach, and by then he'd had to abandon the rythmn, but he would make up for that without a doubt.

He glanced up to see that Wilson's brown eyes were shut tight, as they usually did once the need and sensation began to build, and, satisfied, lightly ran the tips of his fingers down the insides of Wilson's thighs, tracing intimate circles that served to ultimately relax him. His knees immediately seemed to lose all their muscle strength. One hit the back of the couch, while the other poked just over the edge.

He continued with those movements as he leaned down and blew softly on the hardened area that counted, before dipping his head and taking Wilson completely into his mouth, then releasing him.

Wilson inhaled sharply, his eyes flying open, and House noticed with the usual pride that accompanied these acts that he now stood totally erect. He repeated his action one more time (with a small grunt from Wilson), and kissed his way back up to his best friend's throat, his arms on either side of him.

Instinctively, Wilson's head tilted to one side as he enjoyed the patterns House traced with his tongue. His hand traveled of its own free will between them, and stroked House's equally hard member.

The sound that emitted from him was muffled by the mouthful of warm, flushed skin. House moved to his jaw, and muttered, "Okay," into his ear. Wilson chuckled, his breathing a bit ragged already, and did not remove his hand. Instead, he gently guided House to where he clearly wanted him - where they _both_ clearly wanted him.

With little hesitation, House pushed just the tip inside to test the waters.

"Don't stop - "

House needed no more encouragement than that. He plunged the rest of the way in, earning a muffled sort of whimper, and shifted for no good reason other than he wanted to hold onto the feeling for as long as he could. Wilson squeezed his arm, giving him a look that had only become familiar to him in the past couple of months or so. It was a look infused with need, some impatience, concentration, and - one that continued to astoud House - adoration. Very odd. But it provoked emotions that he could hardly contain. After planting a deep kiss on Wilson's lips, he began to move.

It never did take long at all for the ultimate goal to be reached. For only a couple of moments, the sounds of gapped breathing and soft grunts could be heard - and if one was really listening - the very slight sound of skin on skin.

"House - "

The sound that signified the ending was not one they expected. At the same time as their insides seemed to explode with pleasure, a loud _plunk_ mingled with their combined and prolonged groans. It was only when House once again felt in control of his own body that he realized it was the sound of the video tape stopping. Grinning, he pressed his lips to Wilson's damp forehead, and pulled out of him to slide his pants back on. He tossed Wilson his as well, who laid there for a moment more, breathing heavily, before doing the same.

Then they sat side-by-side, unbelievably content and pleasantly drowsy. Wilson yawned and in a burst of non-thought, House placed his arm around his shoulders, inviting him to rest his head in the space provided, which he did in a similar burst of non-thought. This sort of activity only occured when their brains had been blurred and warped by overwhelming sensations.

House closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against Wilson's soft brown hair, frowning in wonder at the calming effect it seemed to have.

Well. He knew what to do in the case of headaches.

Wilson shifted into a position that was more comfortable for them both, and laid his palm on House's good leg, patting it affectionately.

"We've come a long way since the first time," the oncologist stated, lazy humor in his voice. "We could barely look at each other."

House snorted. "Well, the first time, you had this expression on your face that frankly scared me the hell away from looking."

"What expression?"

"_I_ thought you were trying not to piss yourself. Which was understandable, because I am that sexy. Then I realized that it was actually your expression of _lust_ that you were desperately trying to hide."

"I - that's - I mean, what was I _supposed_ to do? I was about to be _intimate_ with my best friend of nineteen years. I had no idea what the hell was going on."

"Ah, don't worry. Now you just look like an adoring puppy dog."

"I don't."

"You do. It's okay though, 'cause it makes you look almost as sexy as me."

Wilson laughed and turned his face into House's shoulder. "I feel accomplished."

"As you damn well should after that _mind_-blowing - "

"I'm happy, House," Wilson interrupted. Sure enough, House could detect a small smile in the very tone of his voice.

The living room went silent for the second time that night.

"What have I told you about using that sort of language? That is a _bad_, bad word."

Wilson squeezed his knee, and replied, "Sorry, Dad, it wasn't my fault."

House nodded his head against him, holding back a smile. "You're an idiot."

Lifting his head to look at him, Wilson searched his eyes. What he found there must have pleased him because he smiled and gave him a swift kiss.

House held his head in that position so that he could keep looking at him. Those brown eyes were so...meaningful. Beautiful. So full of the sort of attention and emotion that was rarely directed at him.

"You're really happy?" he asked seriously, even though he could see the evidence.

"Do I _seem_ happy?"

House nodded without hesitation. He had always been able to tell when Wilson was happy even before they became what they'd become - which was so much more than simply a couple.

"I just thought you needed to hear it."

House nodded again. "But...you don't get upset when I say horrible things to you?"

"What horrible things? Sure you're _you_, but since we've been together, you've...softened up a little," Wilson told him, grinning apologetically.

"Have not."

"Take tonight, for example. You nearly cried when my character died, then proceeded to tell me you loved me and seemed to be unable to keep your lips to yourself. Is that something you do with everyone? If it is, I think I need to know about it."

"Why, Wilson! I see a little green monster."

"Can I describe your actions the way they appeared to me?"

"Dear Lord."

"_Gentle_. You were gentle tonight, House."

"Was not."

"Oh, quit being juvenile. I'm not teasing you. It was nice," Wilson assured him, still grinning.

"Good to know. 'Cause it's never happening again."

"It's okay to be gentle once in a while."

"Yes, and this _was_ once in a while."

Rolling his eyes playfully, Wilson looked away to rest his head on House's shoulder again.

"You can say that now. But I know your secret. Your weakness."

"That's funny. So do I," House said, his hand lazily trailing up and down Wilson's arm.

"You'll do anything I ask."

House was silent.

Wilson nudged him in the side. "Won't you?"

"Haven't we had this conversation before? Seems you mentioned something about laundry..."

"I'm glad you remembered that actually, see, I sent one of my suits to the dry-cleaner's - "

"Stop right there. I will _not_ be picking up your dry cleaning just so you can prove a point."

"Alright, I'm kidding. But if I told you to perform a strip tease right now, you'd do it."

"That would be graceful. If you like cripples who fall on their ass when they begin to take their pants off, then, hey - "

"Do it."

"Nope, sorry, it's too late. Time for bed."

Wilson laughed. "Don't worry, I wouldn't do that to you. However, I _will_ find a way to prove my point. You will bow down to my every whim."

"No doubt. As it turns out, you won't have to prove it."

"Why's that?"

"Because I agree with you."

"You - _what_?"

"I agree with you. I _will_ do anything you ask. Because you're a manipulative son-of-a-bitch. And because I love you and my worst fear is that one day, you'll realize being with me is the stupidest step you've ever taken, and walk out for good."

House could almost _hear_ Wilson's shock at these words.

He _did_ hear the tiny intake of breath before he felt lips on his chest.

"House..." Wilson murmured, kissing through the material of his shirt. At one point, he brushed lightly over a nipple, causing House to give a tiny shudder.

"What?" he asked breathlessly. It was incredible that Wilson could have such an effect on him with such minor touches.

Wilson nestled firmly into his side, his kisses firm as well, as if they could speak what was on his mind. He spoke anyway.

"Being with you is the biggest, most crucial step I've ever taken. And it was also the best. The most satisfying. I can't imagine taking a step _back_ or _down_. You - you make me happy, as insane as that sounds. I wouldn't lie to you about this. I've never been happier."

House ran his fingers through the younger man's hair repeatedly, his heart seeming to swell. It was the most unfamilar feeling that was rapidly becoming familiar. He'd experienced it at least once or twice a week for nearly a year now.

"Wilson. I think it really is time for _bed_."

"One more thing. With my wives - at the one-year point in our relationship, I would have started to feel some level of resentment. Boredom. _Something_ - "

"That's because they weren't me," House pointed out boldly.

"Maybe," Wilson replied, unsurprised. "Nothing along those lines has even crossed my mind with us yet. I really can't imagine it happening, and that's strange to me."

"Obviously it has, or you wouldn't notice it and bring it up."

"Well, yes, but it's better to notice the absence of a negative feeling and comment, than to bottle up that negative feeling until one day you explode and become miserable."

"In other words, communication is key. Is that why you're telling me all of this? You're afraid if you don't, we'll go the same way as your past relationships?"

"No. I just thought you should hear it. I told you that. _Our_ key is a bit of a different shape than most people's. We work because we don't bore each other, and I'm not afraid to tell you when you're being an ass, and you're not afraid to call me an idiot. And no matter what happens, we always, _always_ come back. I doubt there's a single act of utterly heinous treachery you could commit that would drive me away. That we haven't already been through and survived, of course."

House continued to stroke Wilson's hair, deep in thought. This was nothing he hadn't considered and analyzed to death, but to hear his friend vocalize it somehow brought on a whole new perspective. Wilson always managed to change or alter his track of mind. It was one of his extremely attractive qualities. The particular thought - or suspicion rather - that he had in his head at that moment, however, was disconcerting. His stomach clenched into overly tight knots as he considered what was possibly being said.

"James..."

Wilson pulled a face and tilted his head back to look at him. "_Greg_?"

House grinned and yanked on a couple of strands of hair. "Shut up. You wrote my name on the card of a Christmas present once."

Wilson blinked, obviously waiting for a very serious or important statement to come.

"Do you want to marry me?"

Wilson shot upright at once, pushing against him. "_What_?"

House stared at him pointedly.

"_Marry _you?"

"That's what I said."

"I - no, I don't think I want to marry you."

"Why not?"

"_Why_ - ?" Wilson repeated incredulously. "Are you saying _you_ want to get married?"

"Of course not."

"Then, what the hell?"

"Marriage is what you _do_. I know you've thought about it. I also know the idea makes you very uncomfortable."

"So why are you bringing it up?"

"Because I want to know why it makes you uncomfortable."

Wilson sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I - I'm breaking the habit. I can't just marry everyone."

"But I'm not just _any_one."

"Right now. You're acting like you _want_ to."

"Trust me, I don't."

"Why does it _matter_ then?"

"Why are you trying so hard to hide it?"

"I'm not! Isn't it enough that we live together? We don't _need_ to be married to make this work. The last nineteen years are hard proof of that."

"I know."

"Great. So drop it."

"I just need to know that you're mine, Wilson."

To his surprise, Wilson laughed, shaking his head. "That's what it is, huh? You've got to have the lowest self-confidence of anybody ever known to Earth. Is it my fault that I want to take a break from being married for a while? Well - a _long_ while."

"Yes. Who else's fault would it be?"

"Okay. Well, try to understand that I love you, I've always loved you, and I plan on being with you for a long, long time. Maybe one day, we can talk about marriage."

"I don't want to talk about marriage."

"I said, 'one day.'"

"As long as that means never."

"_I just need to know that you're mine, House_."

House rolled his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin. "That's low, even for you."

"Sorry."

"Come back over here."

At once, Wilson nodded and settled back into him. He even went so far as to wrap an arm around his middle, and press a kiss to his cheek.

"House, you are - such an ass. Sometimes, _I _don't even understand what goes on in your head."

"Mm," he agreed, because he was suddenly overcome with a desperate need to jump Wilson's bones again. "I'll make it simple. Wanna do me?"

"Hmm...I guess."


	2. Swing Kids

"You're joking."

Wilson stared at him intently, his face shining with something House had only witnessed during the almost happy times before his infarction.

"You are so screwing with me. You and _Thirteen_?"

"No one else was interested," Wilson shrugged, using one of his white dress sleeves to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.

"It sounded like fun," his fellow piped up, smiling just as widely as his boyfriend, her eyes bright.

"You could have asked me," House said, frowning.

"Yes, because your leg would definitely be able to handle it."

"Oh, will you two wipe those stupid grins off your faces," he snapped. Wilson did so immediately, while it took Thirteen a couple of seconds longer.

"Why did you hide this?"

"I did not _hide_ it - there's nothing to hide! We are simply having fun and - it's great excercise, which I need."

"So go for a run, buy a treadmill - "

"House," Thirteen interrupted smoothly, "If it's going to bother you, I'll just...leave." To prove this, she strode over to the couch, which had been pushed back to make room for what they'd been doing, and grabbed her coat, letting her hair fall out of it's bun. A few strands promptly stuck to her sweaty forehead. It was strangely endearing.

House noticed Wilson shoot her an apologetic look, as she headed for the double doors that would lead her out. She smiled at them both before departing.

Wilson rounded on him. "Why be such an ass? You have a _problem_ with us having a good time?"

"You were _swing_ dancing."

"Yes! Your point?" Wilson demanded, placing his hands on his hips. When House failed to reply, he exhaled through his nose and said, "I found this...place online that offered one free - trial - swing dancing lesson. Dancing - I used to dance when I was younger. It said I needed a partner, and you obviously can't, so I asked Cuddy, who was too busy on that particular day, but Thirteen overheard us. Asked if she could - I thought it was a good idea..."

"Well, it wasn't, it was a stupid idea," House snapped before limping toward the hallway. He had nearly finished shutting the bedroom door when Wilson called out to him.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!"

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, House stood in the doorway, clutching the knob until the younger man stood in front of him, squinting suspiciously.

"Are you..._jealous_?"

"Yeah," he answered promptly. "I wish it was me taking idiot lessons and embarrassing myself in front of a hot bisexual woman."

Suddenly, Wilson grinned. In that satisfied _I've just found out something about you that you don't know yourself_ type of way. "You're jealous," he said incredulously. "You're jealous of - what? Me spending time with Thirteen?"

"I'm not that pathetic."

House attempted to shut the door in his face, but Wilson threw out a hand to prevent this, resulting in a loud _smack_. "Then you're jealous that we're doing something you can no longer do," he suggested quietly. "And you're angry that you're jealous."

House stared at him for a moment, into his sympathetic brown eyes, and frowned. "Fine. You and Thirteen go learn your dance steps. But practice them anywhere except here."

"House. I'm sorry. I didn't think about your reaction - we'll stick to the actual dance room next time, okay?"

He nodded curtly. "Okay." He was surprised and a little pleased when Wilson stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his middle.

"I'd rather it be you. You used to be a much better dancer than Thirteen is."

House smiled into Wilson's hair, which smelled of sweat, and returned the gesture. "I don't need a pity party. Unless you turn down what I'm about to offer you."

Wilson raised his head to look at him. "Which is what, dare I ask?"

"Something else I can do better than Thirteen." He winked. "If you know what I mean."

"Well, how can I turn _that_ down?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

**This will be continued!**


	3. A Bit of Fry and Laurie

There was nothing worse than limping home to Wilson _swing dancing _with one of the sexiest women on earth. So House thought.

No, there was something worse. Something much worse. And _that_ was coming home to Wilson laughing like a maniac (collapsed on the couch, a hand clutching his stomach, tears rolling down his cheeks) at the very last thing House had ever wanted to see displayed on his own television screen: his _own_ face, looking some twenty-odd years younger than it did presently.

Panicking, House limped over to the couch and poked Wilson sharply with his cane, knowing that it could only be one of three things.

"Hey! Chuckle-Pants!" he said loudly. "_Where the hell did you find this_?"

Wilson batted the cane away, still laughing, and pointed toward the screen, choked on whatever words he was about to say, and burst into a whole new fit. House lay a hand on the side of his face and tapped it lightly a few times.

"C'mon, big guy, pull yourself together and tell me - " he began in an urgent tone, but Wilson grabbed at his hand and yanked it down.

"Okay - " he laughed breathlessly. "Okay - listen, I was - I was - " He shook his head, laughing even harder if possible, dropping his head. This prompted the extremely unwanted urge to crack a smile, but House somehow managed to smother it. He sighed heavily and plopped down next to Wilson to wait out the worst of the hysteria, occasionally elbowing him in the ribs to help it along.

"Al_right_," Wilson said, pushing back against him after about the seventh time he did this. He chuckled softly, wiping the wetness from his face. House wasted no time to begin interrogating him, struggling not to let his gaze wander over to the screen. Likewise, he turned Wilson's head away when he seemed about to give in to the same temptation.

"Tell me," he said firmly, "where you could have _possibly_ found this - "

"This unbelievable, buried gem of pure, underrated, comic _genius_?" Wilson suggested, still smiling like a loon. "When did you do that?" He pointed in the direction of the television, for his gaze was still being forced onto House. "And why - ? Talk about _me _hiding things _I_ did when I was a kid - "

"No - this is completely different," House told him. "I was clearly in my twenties, you were - what? Seventeen?"

"Nineteen," Wilson chuckled.

"Same thing. _Where did you find this_?"

Wilson shoved House's hand away from his face to pick up the remote from the coffee table and press the pause button. "I was surfing through our Netflix for - "

House gave him an scandalized look before he could finish. "Old, British, skit shows?"

"Well, if you would let _me_ speak. No, actually, just - British Classics. And _imagine_ my surprise when _this_ shows up with what looked like your face on it. House, there's a laughing audience in the background - you did this live - "

"I w_as_ there," House snapped.

"Who's that?" Wilson asked, pointing to the tall man who was standing next to House on the screen. His nose was crooked, his hair dark, and he seemed to be in the middle of some sort of dance. House almost smiled at the memory.

"Stephen," he said grudgingly. "Stephen Fry."

"Well," said Wilson, sitting back against the couch, his arms folded over his middle. He looked at House, his eyes still twinkling. "Tell me about this."

House rolled his eyes and, snatching the remote from Wilson, copied his pose. He pressed "Play".

"Consider yourself lucky, Jimmy boy. We never put out any commentary. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so listen up."

Wilson brightened at once, and House thought that maybe there _were_ worse things to come home to.


End file.
